


Soft Mornings...

by Replica_of_Divinity



Category: Transformers - All Media Types
Genre: BDSM mention, Domestic Fluff, Romantic Fluff, Suggestive Themes, Tooth-Rotting Fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-01
Updated: 2018-12-25
Packaged: 2019-09-05 02:53:45
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,888
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16802245
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Replica_of_Divinity/pseuds/Replica_of_Divinity
Summary: 8 soft mornings, short and sweet...





	1. 1-4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> #3, Ratchet x Wheeljack, heavily suggests Sticky Sexual Interface that takes place following the events of the writing, as well as alluding to BDSM play, specifically bondage.

_**1: Rung x Skids** _

Skids booted up slowly, the sound of someone humming softly bringing him to the surface. His optics onlined to the warm tones of a sunrise, bathing the berthroom in golden hues. For a moment, though all his faculties were awake and online, he simply lay there. He still hadn’t quite gotten over this novelty; waking up in no rush, nowhere to go, no battles to fight or lives to save.

The humming quieted, and the other field in the room flickered with a brief flash of amusement and affection, “Good morning Skids.”

Skids turned his attention to the side where Rung sat, snuggled deep into his reading chair with a data pad and a steaming mug of fuel (which was probably overly sweetened). Skids smiled and rolled onto his side to better face his Conjunx, propping himself up on an elbow.

Rung’s antenna twitched, “Sleep well?”

Skids hummed in confirmation, carefully extricating himself from the berth. Rung watched intently as Skids moved across the room and then settled down on the floor in front of him. He rested his helm gently against Rung’s leg and settled into a quiet purr as Rung’s slender digits gently brushed over his helm and face.

A memory bubbled up unbidden, bringing the vaguest curve to his lips, “So…how’s it feel to be retired?”

Rung paused in his motions, making a small thoughtful noise, a single digit tapping against Skids’ crest.

“I’d say it feels a great deal better than being bait. That, is for certain.” There was a lilt to his tone that underlay the blunt statement with humor.

Skids snorted, “I would hope so. I’d hate to be comparable to a _spark eater_.”

Rung chuckled softly, “I’m afraid your bite is too gentle for that comparison.”

Skids’ face heated slightly and he burst into a fit of laughter that Rung shortly followed him into.

~*~

_**2: Hound x Beachcomber** _

Hound pondered, not for the first time, how Beachcomber always managed to wake up before him. It didn’t matter how their schedules changed, it didn’t matter if inevitably he would end up going back to sleep after Hound left; Beachy was always up before him.

So when he onlined his optics to the soft beep of his internal chronometer, alerting him to the change in shifts, he wasn’t at all surprised to find Beachcomber awake beside him; still very comfortably nestled up in the curve of his frame, small helm wedged under the impressive shelf of Hound’s front bumper. The only real tell of his awakeness being the faint blue light bouncing back from Hounds bits of reflective armor and onto the wall next to their berth. Hound smiled and rumbled his engine in a pleased little growl before curling more tightly around the little gray and blue minibot. Beachcomber laughed, that soft little laugh that sent Hound’s spark fluttering wildly every time, and hooked his small digits into Hound’s seams, nuzzling into his warm abdominal plating and purring.

There was time yet before he needed to get up and leave, both to fuel and relieve the mech who had duty before him. So they sat in the serene little space of their room, the details lit only by the soft glow of their optics and biolights, and spoke quietly. Of the day before, of thoughts on this and that, it was mostly random chatter; but it was something Hound would never seek to change, it was perfect.

“Hey.” a firm poke to his gut made Hound blink and unfurl slightly so that Beachcomber could move up closer to his face, “You should get going, before poor ‘ol Sideswipe has a conniption.”

Hound groaned, but there was no avoiding it. Beachcomber laughed again, and it was like peace and harmony put to sound, before planting a soft kiss on Hound’s nose. Hound had found the action embarrassing at one point, he couldn’t fathom why anymore. Stretching both his arms and field out he dragged his lover into one more firm and overwhelming embrace, planting a kiss of his own on the minibot’s head; the fluster and affection bubbling in Beachy’s field made everything worth it. He rolled, until he was up on his hands and knees over Beachcomber and smiled down at him, visually tracing every feature he already knew by spark.

“Go on.” Beachcomber gave a gentle push at Hound’s chest, though his field rippled with amusement.

Hound dipped in for one more kiss, simply because he could, before vaulting out of bed with energy he shouldn’t have had, but did. And walked out the door with one last glance and a few words,

“Sing for me?” it was posed as a question, but he already knew the answer.

_The birdsongs in his spark would warm him all day._

~*~

**_3: Ratchet x Wheeljack_ **

Getting up in the morning was a test of willpower, not only because he rarely got much rest at all, but also because Wheeljack made such a tempting cuddle partner. However, today in particular he was trying much harder to keep Ratchet in berth.

"Wheeljack, I need-oof!" Ratchet was cut off as Wheeljack dropped heavily over his front, grunting from the force of it, though it was hardly much of an obstacle.

Ratchet could bench press any of the mecha on the Ark and toss them around like ragdolls, shunting Wheeljack off of him would have been easy.

But the warmth seeping into this chest plate and belly along with the soft vibrations of a high performance engine made wanting to do that very difficult. He groaned and wrapped his arms around Wheeljack's middle, slotting their bodies closer together as Wheeljack rested his helm on Ratchet’s windshield.

Wheeljack chuckled drowsily, "You _need_ to go back to sleep. It's yer day off doc, don't make me tie you down."

Ratchet would have made some quip about them being _in a war_ , and in war _you don't get days off_ , but that last little comment sent his processor spiraling elsewhere. He was an insomniac by nature, going back to sleep would neither be simple nor easy, however...

His engine revved and Wheeljack visibly shivered, "Is that a promise?"

Wheeljack was fully awake in five seconds flat, finials flashing brightly as he rose up to lock optics with his lover, "If you want it to be."

Ratchet smirked and wet his lips, field flickering with blatant interest, "Well then...I suppose I could be _persuaded_ to stay and rest..."

" ** _Challenge accepted._** " Wheeljack blurted out before his mask slid back at record speed and he pressed their lips together hungrily.

Speedsters. Delightfully insatiable.

~*~

**_4: Elite Trine_ **

Thundercracker was the only reason anyone _got up_ on time. Skywarp was the one who managed to _wake_ _everyone up_ after they got up by being loud and obnoxiously petulant. And Starscream? Starscream was the one who made all of that pointless because they would end up late because of him anyway.

At least, that was how it had been, back during the war. With the war over, and all their schedules being different, morning routines changed significantly; especially considering they as people had also changed. Certain mornings were different from others, but only in the sense of whether or not Warp or TC is the first of them to wake up; Starscream is still generally the last one up.

On days when Warp needs to get up first, even if he's trying not to he still somehow manages to wake everyone else up; which is just wonderful considering his duties require the earliest wake up hours. And that usually starts some low level of bickering between him and Starscream which TC tunes out with practiced ease, only floating back to the surface when Warp walks over to plant a kiss on his cheek in goodbye. Leaving TC to wrangle their prickly mate into a cuddle and get him to stop being so noisy.

On days when TC needs to get up first, it's not nearly as early but is somehow far more disruptive and requires all his willpower to push through. Seeing as both Skywarp AND Starscream seem to have made some silent agreement to be as whiney, petulant, and clingy as possible. His mornings often require a mild show of his oft restrained strength, in the form of disentangling and sometimes bodily shunting his two mates off of him. But he always makes sure to smooth out everyone's fields and plant a kiss on both of them before leaving (despite almost always being swiped at by Starscream when he does this, it's a bit half hearted these days though). On these days Skywarp generally gets up right after TC leaves, but occasionally finds himself crawling back into the berth with their pouty Trine leader (who still doesn't know how to ask for the affection he wants, or admit that he wants it).

And then there are rare days like this. Where none of them have anywhere to be and they can wake up at their natural pace...but Starscream is always up first on days like this. And no matter how they'd fallen asleep, TC and Warp would wake gleefully to Starscream nestling down between them. And they'd all huddle even closer together, finding their comfortable positions easily due to years of sharing a berth not big enough for the three of them. And then they'd be so close that they could feel each other's spark beats in their own armor.

And they'd simply lay there for as long as Starscream could tolerate, drowning in each other's fields and their bond. Neither TC or Warp ever dared to complain when Starscream finally decided to extricate himself, often loudly and sometimes violently, because they knew it came from a place of anxiety and feeling far too open and vulnerable for his comfort, not true distrust or disinterest.

They would take what they could get.


	2. 5-8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> #8 is highly suggestive, #7 is mildly suggestive.

_**5: Prowl x Jazz** _

Prowl grunted as something heavy landed on top of him, or perhaps more accurately, _someone_.

His optics flickered on as the rest of his systems finished booting up; and he was met with the sight Jazz’s mischievous smirk. The shorter mech had apparently decided to _sit_ on Prowl and rest his arms across Prowl’s _front bumper_.

“Mornin’ Prowler~ Sleep well?” Jazz crooned softly from his perch.

Prowl snorted and bucked Jazz off of himself, the other mech releasing a startled noise before laughing merrily as he tumbled into the sheets. Sitting up he stretched his sensory panels and neck and once he’d sufficiently worked out what kinks he could he dropped his gaze to his Conjunx, who was apparently _enjoying the view_. Upon making optic contact Jazz sat up and pressed a quick kiss to Prowl’s jaw, which became significantly longer when Prowl hooked his arm around Jazz’s hips to pull him in for something deeper.

Jazz hummed into the kiss, but pulled away and pressed a finger to Prowl’s mouth. He could feel a growl building in the back of his throat, but jazz kissed him once more placatingly before grabbing something from the side table and presenting it.

Prowl blinked down at the energon confection and took it, mumbling a gruff appreciation before biting into it. Jazz chuckled and kissed Prowl on the cheek before settling against his side.

Prowl was by no means a morning person, but having Jazz around did make it more tolerable.

~*~

_**6: Skyfire x Perceptor x Wheeljack x Ratchet** _

Skyfire onlined early in his usual neat and quick manner that came from years of practice and the innate need to not waste the day when there was so much to do and learn. Unfortunately, or perhaps fortunately, his mates were not so inclined to be up at the supposedly “Primus Forsaken” hours he woke at.

Unfortunately, because their temporary sleeping arrangements often found him at the bottom of a “dog pile” as spike had dubbed it. Fortunately, because it meant he had a good hour or two to simply soak in their sleeping expressions and the blessed calm and contentment in their fields which would promptly evaporate the moment they woke. It meant he had come to appreciate not needing to immediately jump into his work, being able to simply lay there with a comfortable level of warmth and weight haphazardly spread about.

Perceptor slept the most soundly of the three, curled into a neat little ball in the crook of Skyfire’s arm, face firmly buried into the massive shuttle’s shoulder. He barely moved or made any noise most nights, though Skyfire had come to notice through his circumstance that the scope did sometimes mutter things every so often, so softly he could never make out the words. And on even rarer occasions Perceptor would wake them all in the middle of the night, not with any manner of noise or moving, but the sharp and frantic spiking of his field that meant he was experiencing some sort of distress; these occurrences never actually woke him bizarrely and he claimed to not remember them in the morning, but they spent a fair few minutes collectively pulsing love and reassurance toward him before his face relaxed and his field returned to normal.

Wheeljack was the heaviest sleeper, hard to wake and slow to boot and get going, but once he did he was easily the most “morning person” of them all; Skyfire included. Skyfire could attest to the benefits of an early rise, but that didn’t mean he didn’t feel the effects of it. Wheeljack seemed entirely unaffected by a lack of recharge, if anything he seemed to draw more energy from that lack; Ratchet had absently joked often that he believed Wheeljack was fueled by something other than just energon. However while he slept well and was always in high spirits in the morning, he was by far the most fidgety. And rather like an earth feline he would simply sprawl across Skyfire’s front in the most bizarre positions, which were no bother to the shuttle, but he failed to believe they were comfortable for Wheeljack. But the laid back mech never complained in any way, though did frequently have to apologize to anyone he happened to accidently smack at some point during the night with his movements.

Ratchet was the one they all fretted over. He was a notoriously light sleeper and an insomniac to boot, and his frequent nightmares which woke him painfully and suddenly, sometimes disoriented and delirious, were one of many causes for his lack of deep sleep. It was refreshing to see him truly deep in recharge and unbothered by whatever shadows haunted his processor. His face was so un-creased and relaxed that it made Skyfire painfully aware of how much younger it made him look. Ratchet was younger than Skyfire by a small handful of centuries, but he was still old, but he looked so much supremely older during the day that Skyfire often forgot _he_ was technically the older of the two. Ratchet was often positioned between Skyfire’s side and the wall, his large white arm technically separating Ratchet from the metal of the ship. When he was deep enough in sleep to not be mindful of his limbs, Skyfire was amused to wake with the usually reserved medic clinging to his chest with a leg thrown over his hip, as if to bring them as close as possible and prevent any attempted separation.

And then inevitably Perceptor or Ratchet would wake up, and like a chain reaction the other two would follow. And the slow disentanglement would begin with the usual complaints and good natured bickering while Skyfire calmly and quietly made sure they all fueled before heading off to their respective work stations.

~*~

**_7: Megatron x Impactor_ **

Megatron had always been an early riser, _before the war_ included.

So it wasn’t particularly surprising that even now, with nothing to do and nowhere to go, he still found himself awake before the sun had even crested over the horizon. He didn’t find it particularly troubling, nor was it in any way a hindrance to his postwar day to day life.

Except the mech he shared his home with was quite adamant that it _was_ a problem. _Particularly_ when Megatron snuck out of berth.

Impactor was forward and refreshingly blunt about everything, he was an open book with his emotions and opinions, no filter in sight. Which was why after waking up a few days in a row to an empty berth he had both physically and proverbially put his foot down; though perhaps _knee_ was more appropriate, as that was the body part that had made harsh contact with Megatron’s abdominal plating one morning as he’d tried to extricate himself. Megatron could remember a time when his friend had been reserved in the sense that he would not admit to certain things, it was a testament then to how much had changed that Impactor had easily if angrily stated that “waking up with you gone scares the slag outta me”. Megatron had been so taken aback at the time he hadn’t been particularly sure how to proceed, but Impactor knew well enough and elaborated without any prompting. Though he did pointedly flop onto Megatron’s front to keep him pinned.

So when Megatron woke, shadows still enveloping their berthroom, he tried to keep those and various other admissions in mind.

Like Impactor’s seemingly inexplicable enjoyment of physical contact. _Cuddling._ It was entirely understandable, Megatron could admit he too soaked up the closeness like a sponge, but that made it no less amusing.

He looked over to Impactor who had rolled onto his back at some point, and was no longer half sprawled atop Megatron as he had been when they fell asleep. His systems still turned in the slow, heavy roll that meant Impactor was deep in recharge. His face was relaxed, peaceful one might say, but peaceful was a word Megatron found impossible to apply to Impactor.

Without thinking, Megatron rolled carefully onto his side and then his front as he shuffled down the berth very minutely until he could rest his helm atop Impactors abdomen. The side of his sensor crest that came into contact with Impactor’s plating twitched at the warmth and vibrations, but inevitably the sensations pulled a very quiet purr from Megatron’s engine. He offlined his optics and focused on the steady pulse of Impactor’s spark, and the odd thrum of his engine. It had always sounded very distinct, different from anyone else, and when he would rev or purr just so, it would hitch naturally. It wasn’t anything to be concerned about, the noise wasn’t due to some malfunction or deformity; the medic who had looked into called it “character” rather bemusedly.

Megatron still wasn’t sure what that meant.

He realized he’d drifted into his thoughts rather deeply when movement near his helm made him jump. Impactor snorted in amusement, his field rippling across Megatron’s plating in good natured teasing and reassurance, and then slowly settled his hand atop Megatron’s crest. Megatron huffed and settled his systems, but gently unfolded his crest panels to allow Impactor better access. And those experienced digits worked over and around every wonderfully sensitive inch, and then moved down underneath, to the back of Megatron’s helm and his neck, which rarely saw contact. Megatron was silently proud of himself for no longer flinching violently when Impactor touched his neck.

Impactor sighed, a pleased little rumble tumbling from his engine into the silence. His other hand easily found Megatron’s and he laced their digits without hesitation, squeezing gently.

Megatron’s mind wandered into their past, images of early mornings spent so deep underground they didn’t even know _if it really was morning_. Of wrapping himself around Impactor, almost clingy, and the other mech muttering denials right left and center that he enjoyed it in any way.

Megatron nuzzled into Impactor’s plating further, trying so very hard to smother the ridiculous smile threating to break out on his face due to the memory.

_Hypocrite._

Impactor didn’t have to hear that thought to know it had occurred, and he pinched a sensor panel in retaliation, making Megatron gasp and raise up sharply to glare. But Impactor merely smirked and raised an optic ridge in challenge.

One Megatron was loath to back down from;

_two could play that game._

~*~

**_8: Megatron x Optimus (TFA)_ **

Optimus onlined with a start as a large body was suddenly curled around him, but a soft rumble of apology had him easing back into Megatron’s warmth. A quick check of his chronometer confirmed for him what he had already expected;

It was _very_ early in the morning.

He would have to get up in a few hours, _they both would_ , but getting Megatron to sleep was like…what was that human phrase? Herding cats. It was like trying to herd _one_ cat; one very big, strong, _gorgeous_ … **stubborn aft** of a cat. Armed with hands bigger than _Optimus’ head_ and a smirk that turned his struts into _jelly_.

…

Optimus firmly stamped down all the memory snippets attempting to surface because now was not the time to be thinking about _that_. They both have to be up in a _few hours_ and if Megatron so much as _suspects…!_

“Thinking happy thoughts _my Prime_?” Megatron intoned smoothly, as if he hadn’t just collapsed into berth after far too many hours of little to no rest.

Optimus sputtered, stuttering out flustered nonsense as one of those previously mentioned large hands moved to rest on his hip and _rub_. He kicked Megatron in the knee and then rolled away for good measure, but unfortunately for him there was a wall there, and so he just ended up with his back against it as he faced Megatron’s bemused expression.

Optimus glared, “You’re terrible.”

Megatron made a nonchalant noise and shrugged, “So I’ve been told. _I don’t think you mean it though…_ ”

And there was that smirk. Smug bastard.

Megatron made to reach for him, but Optimus pointed a finger at him sternly, which he knew looked ridiculous because of how he’d squashed himself against the wall. Megatron paused and then rolled his optics before grabbing Optimus ( _who did not yelp_ ) and pulling him back up against his chest. Optimus wiggled until he was comfortable again and then Megatron, very much like a cat, curled tightly around Optimus.

“You must learn to enjoy spontaneity my dear…” his words drifted off as his systems began to slow, though he wasn’t in recharge yet.

Optimus snorted, “Right. And who is it we’ll be scraping out of their chair by the end of today’s meeting?”

Megatron went silent and stiff before sinking dejectedly further into the berth and somewhat on top of Optimus. He growled and muttered something unsavory that Optimus chose to ignore.

Optimus awkwardly patted Megatron’s chest, the position didn’t really allow for it but he made an effort.

Just as he was about to slip back into recharge a careful but sharp claw dragged along his antenna gently, “Later then…?”

Optimus kneed Megatron in the gut, and not only was it not effective but his field telegraphed a very different reaction. And despite himself, when Megatron purred out something sweet and nuzzled minutely closer, a ridiculous little smile formed on his lips…

“ _The worst._ ”


End file.
